


Of Falling

by Adriyel



Series: As The World Falls Down [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Crushes, Gen, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Relationship Advice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-02-16
Packaged: 2018-03-13 06:06:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3370643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adriyel/pseuds/Adriyel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Aislyn has developed a horrible new habit, Varric has his suspicions and some advice, and Dorian might be more hazardous to the Herald's health than the Elder One.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Falling

**Author's Note:**

> This mostly came from the fact that after learning the ability Leaping Shot, my Inquisitor had the nasty habit of backflipping off cliffs or out windows and getting seriously hurt. And since he'd learned that ability around the time Dorian joined the Inquisition, it certainly seemed to be related to being distracted by the handsome mage. 
> 
> (Truthfully? I'm just not very spacially aware.)

　　The twang of bow and crossbow, the Iron Bull's viciously gleeful battle yells, the brush of magic against his skin, joyful and controlled; these things are, somehow, common place for Aislyn now. He wasn't sure he appreciated it or not.  
　　  
　　He didn't know these people they were killing. Bandits, smugglers, mercenaries; they could have been any of these things. Or none of them. He would have personally preferred to not kill them, but that decision never really seemed to be in his power. The moment the bandits drew their weapons on them, Aislyn has to respond in kind. After weeks of such treatment, he sighs, but doesn't hesitate to nock and loose arrow after arrow.  
　　  
　　He and his chosen companions had been on a dual-tasked mission to remove said bandits/smugglers from the south-western most region of the Hinterlands, as well as establishing the last of the Inquisition camp outposts in the region, hopefully bringing some measure of stability to the region. It had taken a little over a day to get from the Crossroads camp in the north-east section of the Hinterlands to this far more wooded area they now found themselves in.  
　　  
　　Having a canopy over his head was something of a blessing to the Dalish elf. It had felt like an age since he'd been around anything resembling the woods he knew as a child. This area wasn't quite the same, but it was better than the carefully cultivated farmland that took up a good majority of the Hinterlands. The green smell of fallen leaves and grass and old trees helped ease the tension in his shoulders that had been near omnipresent in his life since he'd left his clan.  
　　  
　　As the sun began to western, Aislyn had been trying to locate a decent spot to establish this last camp. He'd found a likely place, on a ridge that gave a vantage point as well as keeping the camp protected from all but one direction. Before he could signal their rest, however, they were ambushed by 5 of the same smuggler-bandits they were planning on routing out of the area.  
　　  
　　If he'd been any sort of military expert, he probably would have been proud at the quick - no, immediate - reaction of his comrades. In an instant, they were all attacking the ambushers. A marksman shot an arrow in Aislyn's direction, but the other archer had the low ground and he was able to dodge to the side, returning an arrow of his own which took the man in the throat.  
　　  
　　His next target was a shield-and-sword warrior who was stalking Varric to the edge of the cliff as Varric's bolts pinged harmlessly off the front of the tower shield. The man seemed intent on the dwarf, a mistake that cost him his life. Aislyn released one of his explosive arrows on the warrior, causing the bandit to stagger. A joyful laugh to his right, and suddenly the warrior was in the center of an inferno and screaming his last moments of agony.  
　　  
　　Sparing a glance around the area, Aislyn saw another body hacked near to bits under Iron Bull's great axe. To his right, Dorian's stance was one of practiced, masterful ease, a smirk on his face, eyes battle-bright. The white silk of his robes gleamed in the sunlight as eddies of magic swirled around him. Laying on the ground near the Altus was another body, charred completely to black to the bones.  
　　  
　　 _'That's four... where's the-'_ He had barely a chance to think as a rogue appeared out of a black cloud, slashing at his throat. He jerked back reflexively, and he felt the cool and tingling brush of a barrier lay across his skin, as if he'd suddenly been submersed in a pool of mint. With barely a thought, he leapt backwards, loosing 3 arrows that at this distance found their marks, piercing the heart, throat and eye of the other rogue. As if that wasn't enough, the Iron Bull swung his great axe, cleaving the man in half.  
　　  
　　Aislyn landed a good 10 feet away from his companions, content in the knowledge that their attackers were all dead. That contentment didn't last long, though, as the ground under him crumbled away and he felt his body start free-falling.  
　　  
　　"BOSS!" The Iron Bull called out as Aislyn disappeared over the edge of the ridge. He was in midair only a moment before he crashed against the rock face and started rolling, painfully, down the side, falling against stones and through brier. Though his leather armor helped take the brunt of the damage as he fell, when he got to the bottom, his head slammed against some wood. The pain stunned him, momentarily, and all he could do was groan as he lay on the ground, dazed.  
　　  
　　He heard crashing and the sound of falling rocks before he saw the Iron Bull. The Qunari knelt down and picked Aislyn up, propping the Dalish up against a stack of wood. In the back of his mind, Aislyn realized that it seemed to be a logging site. He made note to make note of it with the scouts.  
　　  
　　"You good, Boss?" The Iron Bull asked, gruffly, though Aislyn could tell there was a hint of laughter in his voice.  
　　  
　　"Seem to be all in one piece." With a groan, the white-haired elf replied. He tentatively rubbed the knot on his head. It was already starting to swell into a bruise, but it wasn't concave. That, at least, was a good sign.  
　　  
　　"Good. Hate to see you killed by a rock." The Iron Bull laughed, helping the slender elf to his feet, though Aislyn was a bit shaky in his standing. He picked up his bow, checking it as thoroughly as he was able for damage, and finding none, he put it back in its' place on his back. Ironwood was tough.  
　　  
　　The walk around, and then up, the ridge was done mostly in silence, though Aislyn would hiss a bit when one of his steps jarred him enough to bring a bruise to the forefront of his consciousness. When they reached the top, he noticed that the bodies of the ambushers had been removed from the area. Good. They didn't need a bear coming into camp, drawn by the smell of the dead. Varric pushed a Regeneration potion into his hand. Before he drank it, however, he turned to Bull.  
　　  
　　"Bull, call the scouts in, please. We'll set the last camp here, get some rest, and hit the manor tomorrow." The thought of the prospective battle brought a bloodthirsty grin to the Qunari's visage.  
　　  
　　"Good thinking, Boss." The Iron Bull took the horn at his side, calling out a signal to the scouts that they'd found another camp site. Aislyn sat on a rock, downing the small vial of potion with a grimace. Effective as the stuff was, it tasted horridly bitter.  
　　  
　　Within 15 minutes, numerous scouts seemed to just flow out of the forest into the area and within another 15, camp was well set up, with a bit of food cooking on a fire pit. It impressed Aislyn every time it happened, honestly. The Dalish are nomadic by nature, and camps can be set up and taken down in a matter of minutes, but that didn't really include tents, as aravels were the preferred sleeping quarters.  
　　  
　　The Iron Bull was cleaning his great axe near the opening of the camp, unobtrusively keeping a guard at their most vulnerable point. He tended to his axe and armor with a warrior's attentiveness. Dorian seemed to be trying to either hold a conversation with the Iron Bull or, and was probably more likely, trying to bait him. The Altus seemed to enjoy the exchange of banter, and wit. The Dalish noticed a charming smirk playing on his face.  
　　  
　　 _'Can a smirk be charming?'_ Aislyn narrowed his eyes contemplating the thought for a moment. As he sat on his rock, feeling the potion healing the bruises and cuts and working on the bump on his head, Varric approached.  
　　  
　　"How's the head, Snow?" The writer asked, voice low but with a note of laughter in his concern. Aislyn hummed noncommittally.  
　　  
　　"Less like giants pounding with a boulder and more like druffalo stomping." He said after a moment. Varric laughed a bit, taking a seat on another rock.  
　　  
　　"Could have been worse. You could have knocked yourself unconscious. Or broken your neck." Aislyn nodded a bit, waiting. He had a feeling that Varric had something he wanted to say. All it took was waiting until the dwarf said it. "So... You've been having these accidents more and more frequently, lately. Something on your mind? I've been used as a confidant before." Aislyn had to smile at that. It was still a new, and unexpectedly warm, feeling to know someone was worried over him.  
　　  
　　"I appreciate that, Varric, but I'm fine. Just haven't quite gotten the hang of this new skill, yet." He sighed a bit, running his fingers through his bangs, missing the length his white locks used to be. "I know Sera said it was easy but, well, it was Sera, so of course she thought it was simple. Dorian wasn't wrong when he said she was an archery savant."  
　　  
　　"So it has absolutely nothing to do with Sparkler joining our outings or the fact that you get distracted looking at him? That's good to know, I suppose." Varric crossed his arms over his chest and waited.  
　　  
　　"No, I.... I just...." Cheeks flushed a bright red, Aislyn hid his face against his knee. "Is it that obvious?" Varric gave a chuckle, patting the younger man on the shoulder.  
　　  
　　"Probably only to those of us who've been with you from the start. I doubt Sparkler's noticed anything particularly unusual. Aside from you falling over ledges and cliffs 3 times in the last 2 weeks." Varric's casual stance and grin faded a bit, and he grew serious. "But, still, I wasn't joking when I said it could have been worse. If this is going to be a problem..." Aislyn interrupted the dwarf, sighing a bit.  
　　  
　　"No, it won't. I just... I don't know what to do. I want to get to know him, but..." He runs his hand through his hair again, showing his pique. "Augh, it's ridiculous. This is ridiculous. There's more important things that I need to focus on."  
　　  
　　"The world's falling to shit, I'll give you that. But you can't make the entire world's problems the only focus of your life. You need friends, people you trust, people you care about. Otherwise, all the weight of it will crush you." As Aislyn looked at him, he saw that the dwarf had a far-off look in his eyes for a moment.  
　　  
　　It made the elf wonder, not for the first time, exactly what happened in Kirkwall with Hawke. It was something everyone seemed to talk about without actually talking about it. A wound too fresh for anyone with any real knowledge of the incident to deal with. The look was there for a moment, and then gone as Varric refocused on Aislyn.  
　　  
　　"Listen, Snow, if you're really wanting to get to know him, you can try talking. The guy loves to talk, especially about himself." Aislyn laughed a bit. That was certainly something that had proven to be true, just listening to the conversations that happened around him.  
　　  
　　 "Ah, thanks, Varric. For... For the advice. And for worrying in the first place." It was, perhaps, an odd thing to be thankful for. Varric did give him an odd look, but he smiled slightly.  
　　  
　　"Anytime, Snow. After all, there's so many people depending on you, someone's got to look out for you." Having said all he'd wanted to, Varric wandered into the center of the camp, heading towards the food the scouts had prepared.  
　　  
　　Aislyn sat another few moments, contemplating Varric's advice. Just talking. That couldn't be so hard, right?  
　　  


###### 

　　  
　　As it turned out, getting Dorian alone to talk wasn't terribly difficult. The availability of tents for the Inquisition was limited, and Aislyn had long before put his foot down about being given his own sleeping arrangements to the detriment of his scouts or companions. He would share a tent, just the same as his allies, or he would sleep under the stars.  
　　  
　　He actually had, too, during the first night at the Crossroads camp. The scouts had insisted that he have his own tent, and in retaliation, he'd slept on a patch of moss under a tree. He'd woken up, feeling rather well rested, covered in dew. The Inquisition scouts had been mortified, and had not once tried to force a single tent on him. He'd made his stance clear.  
　　  
　　So, come night fall, Aislyn discovered that Dorian was his tent mate for the night. Not a particularly unusual thing, he tended to rotate between the male members of his group as tent mate. But after the talk with Varric this afternoon, he wondered if the dwarf had a hand in the fortuitious event.  
　　  
　　Aislyn had already removed his armors and was sitting on his bed roll, waiting until Dorian had done the same. Before the mage could actually turn in for the night, the Dalish spoke up.  
　　  
　　"Ah, Dorian? Can I.... May I ask you some questions?" The Altus raised an eyebrow, but nodded in agreement.  
　　  
　　"What is on your mind, Herald?" Aislyn frowned a bit at the title, but decided not to let it bother him too much at the moment.  
　　  
　　"Would you... tell me about Tevinter?" The younger man almost wanted to wring his hands a bit, nervous that he was bothering the mage. Dorian looked at him, askance, for a moment, until it transformed into a self-satisfied smirk on his face, as if Aislyn had done exactly as the mage had expected him to.  
　　  
　　"And what would the dear Herald want to know about the evil Tevinter Imperium? Blood magic? Slavery? That mages rule the populace? The Black Divine, even?" There was that scathing wit Aislyn had come to expect out of the other man, almost sharp enough to cut. He'd seen it turned on their other comrades often enough, to rather amusing results, honestly. He wasn't sure how he felt being on the receiving end of it, though.  
　　  
　　"Ah, no. Not really, actually. Any discussion of Tevinter, anywhere in the south, and all anyone ever talks about is that. Even if half of it is made up, learning of the bad, it would align with the stereotypes, and it would be easy to think that that is all it is." Aislyn could tell from the derisive snort exactly what the Altus thought of the Southern stereotypes.  
　　  
　　"But... you're a good person, Dorian. Even if you turn your scathing wit on anyone or anything willing to stand still near you for the minute it takes you to come up with a complimentary insult or an insulting compliment-"  
　　  
　　"Glad to see you have such a high opinion of me. Also is does not take me nearly so long to think of such things; it is an innate talent." The sardonic reply came. Aislyn let out an amused huff.  
　　  
　　"As I was saying, you're a good person. Deny it if you want, but I know its' true. And if a person as good as you loves a place like Tevinter as much as you do, it can't be all bad. There has to be something good about it to make you as proud and disappointed as you are with it." Aislyn curls up into a sitting position, giving the Altus his full attention. "So, will you tell me? I want to learn about the Tevinter you're proud of."  
　　  
　　Dorian stared at him quite as if he'd not really seen the Dalish before that moment. If Aislyn was honest with himself, the Altus hadn't. He'd been so tongue-tied and embarrassed around the mage, he'd barely spoken more than a handful of words to him. Aside from asking about his family when he'd first joined the Inquisition, this was the first real conversation they'd had.  
　　  
　　Even in the dimmed light coming from the fire outside the tent, the elf saw the smile break over the mage's face, one that Aislyn could no more leave unanswered than he could leave the refugees at the Crossroads cold and hungry.  
　　  
　　"Well, if that's what you're interested in hearing about. Never let it be said I'm not generous or gracious." The other man settled himself on his own bedding, facing the elf.  
　　  
　　As the night grew darker, quieter and colder around them, Dorian spoke, with pride in every word, of the exceptional virtues of his homeland, answering questions on culture or history, architecture or cuisine as Aislyn asked them. In his words, the pale elf could almost picture the Imperium as it should have been, rather than the bloodstained, power-mongering thing it was.  
　　  
　　Their conversation went deep into the night until they were both yawning around their words. By mutual consensus, they turned in at the same moment, taking to their bed rolls. As sleep overtook the elf, the warmth in his stomach made him think of free-falling. With the sound of Dorian's breathing on the other side of the tent, his words in Aislyn's ears, and images of a proud, history-laden country in his mind, the elf passed into the Fade with a smile on his lips.


End file.
